


One Dozen Dozens

by ordinarily (tofty)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-12
Updated: 2010-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofty/pseuds/ordinarily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam and Dean are apart, Sam falls off the wagon. The demons will only give Sam blood if he'll let them fuck him. Non-con, desperation, addiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Dozen Dozens

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round three of the blindfold kink meme, for the summary prompt. In addition to the requested kinks, this fic contains bloodplay, woundfucking, quasi-necrophilia. Set in the universe we see in "The End." Oh, Sam.

13.

It takes him days to give in, in Detroit. No one ever accused him of being weak-willed, and that’s always been a point of pride for him – and occasionally his downfall, with it – but when you’re given not nearly enough food and water to keep you alive, there’s only so long you can hold out before demon blood starts looking like something you might be able to work with. And eventually he gives in, of course, some demon grunt’s wrist held to his mouth, drinks while hoping against hope that Dean, wherever he is right now, will understand. He’s got to drink, and the blood’s hot and liquid and burns its way down like rotgut whiskey, and all he wanted was some goddamned water, but this is so much more. He was thirsty, and even given last year under Ruby’s watchful gaze, he didn’t know how thirsty until he was allowed to drink. It’s an unpleasant and wholly unwelcome truth: this might be the best and worst he’s ever felt.

When he’s done drinking, he yanks the bedposts right out of the frame, exorcises two demons, punches a third right through the wall of the clapped-out old flophouse, and gets halfway to the door before they manage to knock him down. They bind him again, this time with salted iron manacles, and he scrubs his wrists raw against them, shuddering, calling for help and for more, by turns, until they feed him again.

And again.

And then they stop.

 

21.

He’s not feeling so great when they finally feed him again, this time a college kid, long and lanky, looking like someone he might have gone to school with five years ago. Sam wishes he could pray still, though whether he’d pray for deliverance or just death, he’s not quite sure. He can’t pray because he knows no one’s listening, because he doesn’t deserve to be heard, and when the demon college kid makes shallow cuts in his arms Sam turns his head to one side, but enough time and he’s chasing the blood with his mouth, sucking kisses that leave rising bruises, occasional bites that break the skin and make them both moan with a sudden gush warm over his tongue.

The kid lets him drink himself panting and hard and then slides slowly down Sam’s body, eyes slitted as he sucks Sam, two fingers twisting slowly in his ass. Sam would pray if he could, hide his face if he could. He can’t, and so he just lies there and tries to think of nothing. Mostly he fails, but with his dick in somebody’s mouth, success comes a little easier.

 

34.

They bring a mirror in, delicate filigreed frame, spotted with age, and he’s not sure what it’s for until they hold it over him, but he knows as soon as he catches his own reflection, his eyes shining black, face gaunt, bony fingers twitching like dying spiders, constant tremors that he hasn’t noticed before now but can’t deny with the evidence right there in front of him. Individual features track, but he doesn’t look like any Sam he ever knew, probably he isn’t any more, and he misses Dean, who could get him through this and bring him back if anyone could, if it were even possible, he’s not so sure about that now. And Sam can count on his fingers the number of times he’s cried in his adult life with fingers left over, and never at all just because of what his life’s become, but he does it now with three demons watching impassively, holding the mirror over him steady.

Maybe Dean could save him from this, but maybe he couldn’t, and since the uncertainty there’s so high, it might be best that Dean’s not here and isn’t, for once, coming for him or waiting for him, and this time when the demon cuts into the skin of the body he’s riding, he doesn’t recoil and doesn’t pretend to, just meets him halfway and lets the blood drip into his mouth and watches his own greedy face in the mirror. His lips are lurid and red, even in the filtered low light.

 

55.

They drew a devil’s trap around him before they unlocked the shackles, but he didn’t see why then and he doesn’t now, because he’s not going anywhere, where would he go, there’s nowhere he could go that would have what he needs available the way it’s available here, and the need for it pulls at him constantly, although their blood’s also always there, now, it’s part of him and entirely him, it doesn’t fade away, he wouldn’t want to be without it, doesn’t know what that would do to him. Still, though, he can sometimes afford to ignore the thirst for a while if he feels like it, and that’s what he’s doing now, the girl he’s fucking into is whole and uncut, and so is the guy who’s behind him fucking his open hole, pushing him into the girl underneath, and so’s the one who’s got a finger in his ass, stroking the dick inside him. The only visible blood is dried and powerless, but he feels the blood moving through him, his own, warm and living, and thinks _this is my life now_ and the thought of it sends shivers through him as the girl under him twitches and shivers in turn.

 

89.

Doesn’t even register the voice at first, low buzz directly into his head, opened eyes and someone above him, not sure if it’s real or not, some of them are and some aren’t, and lesson learned that it’s not always possible to listen to the senses to know for sure. Eyes white and glittery-opaque, long lashes almost close enough to give feathery butterfly kisses, like a lazy Sunday brunch treat from a long time ago, if that was real, which maybe it wasn’t, hard to tell, and the mouth moves as the needle pierces its finger, held over his face. The first drop hits his cheek and he turns his head fretfully into it, mouth open, but the body’s shaking its head, mouth moving and his ears won’t quite hear, and the second drop hits his forehead and he moans. A gesture to his dick, already anticipating the thrumming rush in his veins, and he thinks he understands what it wants, and he fucks up in her while she cuts her own throat, blood everywhere, soaking into the sheets, all over him, into him, and if this is real it’s good and if it’s not it’s good, he can’t remember a time when he felt this way, and he comes, probably coming blood, he’s drunk enough now, iron-smelling skin and so fucking beautiful _don’t stop_ , hips grinding onto him until there’s no blood left, and after, he rolls the corpse off and jerks himself off rough and sloppy, slippery and bloody into the widely-smiling throat, and he stands after, a little surprised he can, still, and looks in the mirror, red streaked with white, black-eyed and broken and power eating up into the space around him, and he scrubs a hand through the mess on his chest and licks, getting hard again, hungry again, and yes there’s always someone there to help him out, so he just kneels up on the bed and lets the help fuck him, blindly, his dick bouncing against his belly as he pushes back against another body rushing so hard he doesn’t even want to drink, gripping the hair of the body underneath him for leverage, the power with nowhere else to go shifting the air around them.

 

144.

in the room with him alone no never alone someone different no call of blood to him just a low sweet voice skin all worn torn but not bleeding like him not bleeding takes it in without letting it out just like and the low sweet voice says _sam_ whos that _sam I need you listen are you listening please say yes sam_ and why not nothing to lose and says it right out loud voice only halfway still working _yes_ and white light bursting through him and

dean

 

what


End file.
